Duty, Honour, and All That
by fluidstatic
Summary: Ffamran is to be made a judge, and he's not exactly pleased by the prospect.


**Duty, Honour, and All That**

Ffamran sat at his drafting desk with a pencil, fountain pen, and an array of ink. He was painting a full-color perspective drawing of his pet project. The ship was a lovely thing, with articulated dual-movement wings and a sleek, discreet cockpit that reminded him rather nicely of a bird-of-prey. He had finally settled on a white steel and bronze body with violet decals, in a rather handsome feather motif – suitable to her curves, yet not absurdly feminine. Her official name was YPA-GB47, and when it came right down to it, the mere thought of her made him salivate.

Unfortunately, his fountain pen was giving him its worst. He scowled at it.

"Must you be so difficult?"

Cid appeared in the doorway to the right of the desk, and knocked twice on the open door.

"Enter," Ffamran muttered automatically, tapping the clogged pen on the desk.

Cid did not move. "I bring news."

"And the sky is usually blue, when it isn't raining. Out with it, then."

"You have been appointed Judge Magister of the Seventh Bureau."

The fountain pen slipped out of his hand. "What?"

"It is a great honor to be chosen for the magistrate, Ffamran. You should be quite pleased."

Ffamran straightened the pen on the edge of the desk.

"With respect, Father, I fail to see how I am the best choice for the post."

"Seventh Bureau requires the leadership of an engineer with exemplary understanding of aeronautics, and you are the only man in Archadia besides myself who comprehends the full mechanical and tactical implications of airship design."

Ffamran blinked.

"I am not fond of flattery, Father."

"Fact is not flattery. You will not refuse the post you were meant to take."

"And what if I do?"

Cid removed his glasses.

"I shall not tolerate your cheek, Ffamran."

Ffamran pushed away from the desk and slouched, tilting the chair onto its back legs.

"Has the senate forgotten the small matter of my age?"

"Don't be absurd. Gabranth's age has not played a factor in his competency."

"Gabranth is not a child."

"Neither are you. Sit up straight."

The chair creaked reluctantly back onto all four legs.

"Judge Magister is a military command post, is it not? Surely . . ."

"This is not a matter under discussion, Ffamran."

Ffamran picked up the fountain pen without taking his eyes off his father, and tapped it twice on the surface of the desk.

"As you wish, Father."

He turned back to his sketch, and Cid replaced his glasses.

"Your commencement is in two days. I highly recommend that you reassess your attitude."

Ffamran did not respond.

When the door closed, he dropped the pen and pressed his shaking hands to his face.

Judge Magister?

* * *

**Two Days Later**

"You cut quite the figure, my son."

Ffamran adjusted the strap on one of the vambraces and scowled.

"I think I'm going to be ill."

"Don't be absurd."

Ffamran scoffed; Cid pretended to ignore him.

"Well now, let's see your salute. Attention!"

Ffamrn snapped to attention obediently, eyes fixed on a blank point on the wall, heels together, shoulders square, back straight, elbows at an angle away from his body, hands loosely fisted at the proper point in front of him.

Cid began to circle, studying his son appraisingly.

"Hm. Passable… but…"

He stopped at Ffamran's right shoulder and flicked at the twist of steel dangling from his son's ear.

"The earrings have to go."

Ffamran fell out of salute. "Why?"

"They hardly lend an air of professionalism, Ffamran."

"As I paid for them myself, they are mine, which by extension means I may wear them as I wish."

Cid waved a hand in a gesture of finality. "They are unprofessional, and worse, immature. You will take them out."

"These piercings are fresh. You would that my ears bear scars?"

"Spare me your histrionics."

Ffamran now bore a very unprofessional, murderous expression; Cid smiled calmly and waited. Their arguments usually ended this way; the young master Bunansa sour-faced and bitter, the doctor having taken the upper hand with ease. But then again...

Ffamran straightened and folded his arms importantly.

"I have no reason to take your orders. I outstrip you in rank now, if you'll recall."

Calmly, he crossed to the drafting desk against the wall, where Ffamran's perspective drawing of his precious ship lay in pride of place under a gleaming silver paperweight. It had been his main preoccupation for the past week, and was nearly finished.

The doctor plucked a bottle of black ink from the desk and removed the cork.

"I've told you before that I will not tolerate your cheek."

Ffamran fell into an exasperated slouch and rolled his eyes.

Cid raised his eyebrows. "As you wish..."

And he tilted the bottle of ink, about to spill it over the drawing. Alarmed, Ffamran gave a quick step forward.

Cid tilted his head. "Take them out... go on."

His eyes on the bottle of ink, Ffamran fumbled madly with the earrings; after a few moments he tossed both twists of aged steel onto the desk, and held up his hands in half-sarcastic surrender.

"...All of them, please."

The four brass ear-cuffs had been an afterthought to begin with; as it was, Ffamran had nearly forgotten about them. Exasperated, he tugged them off in two quick movements, scraping the tender cartilage in his haste, and threw them down onto the desk beside the first pair.

Cid smiled calmly and replaced the cork in the bottle of ink.

"we leave for House Solidor in an hour. Please do something about your hair."

"Yes, Father."

Cid strode from the room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

One hundred people turned out to see the newest and youngest Judge Magister be formally introduced at House Solidor. The young Bunansa was the object of much talk among the guests, as were the Solidors. The three remaining members of the Imperial family were all present; even little three-year-old Larsa was in attendance, sleeping peacefully in Judge Drace's lap.

The commencement stage's columns and stairs were draped in rich black and crimson velveteen. The five other members of the Magistrate stood along the back wall of the stage, each a motionless bastion of military propriety in gleaming armor.

Ffamran stood off to the side of the podium, forced into absurdly straight posture by his new armor. The black brushed steel was beautiful with its serpentine detailing, but the vambraces bit into his arms, and the black leather gorget he wore felt like a threatening hand pressed against his throat.

He wanted to scream.

Cid mounted the stair to ringing applause, beaming with the smug satisfaction that only an overbearing father can know. He saluted Gramis and Vayne, who nodded deferentially, and then saluted the Judges Magister, who returned his salute as one.

Formalities complete, Cid turned to the podium.

"My Lords Solidor, Ladies and Gentlemen of the senate, it is my duty – and great pleasure – to announce the arrival of a new Judge to the Archadian Magistrate.

"The Seventh Bureau is charged with tactical aeronautics and engineering, and will work in tandem with General Zargabaath of the thirteenth Archadian fleet to ensure the continued military superiority of our air force. The man chosen to lead this new division is one of the keenest academics of his generation, and he will lead Archadia's military forces into a new era of tactical engineering. I am proud to call this man my son."

Ffamran narrowed his eyes a fraction, thinking of the fight they had just had – _Proud, indeed. Don't make me laugh _– and mounted the stair to ringing applause, moving to stand before his father.

"Ffamran Mid Bunansa, I present to you the saber and helm of Seventh Bureau's Judge Magister."

Ffamran saluted stiffly, annoyed to find himself trembling with nerves as Cid presented the slender, gleaming sword to him in both hands.

_You must be joking._

The saber was intricately and beautifully crafted, but it was disconcertingly light, and to Ffamran's hand, felt as though it would break in two. He sheathed it awkwardly, longing for the weight of his Altair in its holster on his back.

Cid turned and retrieved the helm from its stand on the podium; its wine-red detailing shone like fresh blood against the brushed steel. Ffamran saluted once again and took it from his father's hands; it glowered at him in disapproval. He turned it in his hands and put it on. The narrow sights in the visor constricted his view of the room, and the smell of metal polish filled his sinuses and throat. He thought immediately of Draklor's laboratory cages, and a shiver of revulsion ran down his neck.

He turned and watched as Seventh Bureau's military unit filed into the room. Nearly all of them seemed to be united in hatred of him, for it was clearly written in their faces that they had no faith in him whatsoever. In fact, only the youngest of the unit regarded him with any hint of true respect.

Sealus Den Filosann had been a colleague of his at Akademy; he was the only student there who had not regarded 'That Bunansa' as an adversary. There was something comforting in the man's presence here, even though they were little more than acquaintances, and Ffamran fixed his eyes on Sealus as he issued his first order to his unit.

"Attention!"

The fifty men snapped to full salute, and the room rose to its feet in an ovation.

In spite of himself, Ffamran smirked quietly into the darkness of his helm. Perhaps he'd be able to handle this travesty after all.


End file.
